When the aliens finally descend to crush humanity, we must be prepared to beat them back with our last remaining resource: hit records.

2. Fleetwood Mac—‘Rumours’:

The thing about Rumours is that it provides both hits and drama, two elements essential to bonding time with anyone, especially with aliens who want nothing more than to watch civilization burn. Imagine the excitement! The aliens on your couch, leaning close to your record player, fully engrossed in the stories behind the music. Yes, my alien friends. Lindsey Buckingham was maybe a bit of a jerk to Stevie Nicks. Yes, they are singing “I Don’t Wanna Know” to each other. The bonus here is that you can show them videos of Buckingham and Nicks in 2016, getting along perfectly well. If those two gave each other another chance, surely the rest of us deserve one.

When the aliens finally descend to crush humanity, we must be prepared to beat them back with our last remaining resource: hit records.

2. Fleetwood Mac—‘Rumours’:

The thing about Rumours is that it provides both hits and drama, two elements essential to bonding time with anyone, especially with aliens who want nothing more than to watch civilization burn. Imagine the excitement! The aliens on your couch, leaning close to your record player, fully engrossed in the stories behind the music. Yes, my alien friends. Lindsey Buckingham was maybe a bit of a jerk to Stevie Nicks. Yes, they are singing “I Don’t Wanna Know” to each other. The bonus here is that you can show them videos of Buckingham and Nicks in 2016, getting along perfectly well. If those two gave each other another chance, surely the rest of us deserve one.

One of my favorite bands growing up was FLEETWOOD MAC. When the Rumours album came out I remember listening to it over and over. What made that album great was the fact that they have several writers in the band each with different influences. It really comes through in the music. You’ve got Christine McVie doing a tender piano ballad. “The Chain” and “Gold Dust Woman” are heavy, blues/rock songs. There’s “Second Hand News", which borders on bluegrass with Lindsey Buckingham’s influence and guitar playing. Then there’s “Dreams”, which is a straight-ahead rock/pop song. That record is so fantastic because FLEETWOOD MAC still sounds like a cohesive band. The album takes you on a musical journey. It’s interesting every time you listen to it and that’s what merits its longevity.

Given the success of their self-titled 10th album the previous year, this might be surprising. After all, the band was newly invigorated with the addition of singer/guitarist Lindsey Buckingham and vocalist Stevie Nicks, both of whom had helped it evolve from its beginnings as a British blues group to what would become a California pop-rock band.

But with the commercial success of 1975’s “Fleetwood Mac” and hits like Nicks’ “Rhiannon” also came personal turmoil. Buckingham and Nicks broke up. Bassist John McVie and keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie divorced. And even drummer Mick Fleetwood was dealing with his own divorce from Jenny Boyd, who had an affair with the band’s previous guitarist, Bob Weston.

As a result of all these breakups (and various, interspersing trysts), the lyrical content of 1977’s “Rumours” is often bitter. But it’s also brilliant. If one thing has been proved by popular music in the past 70 years or so, two of the greatest inspirations for songwriting are love and the loss of it.

“Rumours” kicks off with Buckingham’s bouncy “Second Hand News.” It’s about as close as Fleetwood Mac ever came to crafting an all-out pop song. Despite its buoyant melody, the lyrics still address the songwriter’s relationship status: “I know there’s nothing to say / Someone has taken my place.”

Buckingham’s “Go Your Own Way” is perhaps one of the best breakup songs ever written with lyrics like, “Packing up / Shacking up / Is all you wanna do,” directed at Nicks, of course. Fleetwood pummels his drums as John McVie pounds on his bass and Buckingham’s guitars catch fire. Yet the chorus is soaring as Buckingham, Nicks and Christine McVie combine their voices for this super-charged barnburner.

The intricate guitar structure of “Never Going Back Again” came to define the sound that Buckingham would pursue through much of his solo career. The song’s title and chorus again reference a relationship gone wrong. But this time it’s not about Nicks. Supposedly it’s about a post-Nicks rebound.

While “Rhiannon” became Nicks’ signature song, “Dreams” remains one of her … well … dreamiest. Even though it has a sweeping chorus, that simple John McVie bass line keeps the song grounded in its serious storyline: “Now here you go again / You say you want your freedom / Well who am I to keep you down.” Then, of course, there’s that classic kiss-off line: “Players only love you when they’re playing.”

Nicks’ “I Don’t Want To Know” sounds happy by comparison but it too is about love that “keeps right on walking down the line.” Then there’s the searing “Gold Dust Woman,” which is about a different type of toxic relationship, namely her romance with cocaine. Again, bad relationships inspire absolutely brilliant songwriting and “Gold Dust Woman” remains one of Nicks’ best.

With all of Buckingham and Nicks’ musical bickering, the positivity of Christine McVie’s sunny “Don’t Stop” is warmly welcomed. Buckingham lends a hand on lead vocals as he and McVie sing about smiles and the hope of tomorrow. Yes, she had just divorced her bassist husband, but she was looking toward the future.

Of course, during the recording of this album, Christine McVie had already moved on to dating the band’s lighting director. Her happy little tune, “You Make Loving Fun,” is about him while her sweet and tuneful “Songbird” is another pleasant break from the angst as she sings, “And I love you, I love you, I love you / Like never before.” Even the sad-sounding “Oh Daddy” is fairly optimistic.

Despite all the in-fighting, Fleetwood Mac came away from “Rumours” with a series of hits and even greater popularity than before. It went on to achieve critical acclaim and Rolling Stone eventually named it No. 25 on its list of the Top 500 Albums of All Time.

Ultimately, the band came together to create an album of musical brilliance. That unity also led to the song “The Chain,” which is the only track on “Rumours” where all five band members contribute to the writing. In addition to a killer bass line from John McVie and some of Fleetwood’s best beats, the song features the all-important lines: “I can still hear you saying / You would never break the chain.”

Now, nearing 40 years since its release, its still one album that crosses many generations and constituents. We can wait all we want for "new music" , BUT this is the one album that will always stand the test of time.

I know some people think with Rumours it's like not necessarily always a good thing that Rumours was huge because it's what everyone associates them with but to me, that just shows how significant that album was. I'd compare it to the likes of Thriller by Michael Jackson in terms of significancy. Even groups like the Stones, who are a lot bigger than FM, never had an album like that.

I know some people think with Rumours it's like not necessarily always a good thing that Rumours was huge because it's what everyone associates them with but to me, that just shows how significant that album was. I'd compare it to the likes of Thriller by Michael Jackson in terms of significancy. Even groups like the Stones, who are a lot bigger than FM, never had an album like that.

RIAA has it at # 8 @ >20 Million Certified Sales. Pretty impressive when you think of the very few that are ahead of Rumors. If you look closely, its like the late 70s, early 80s really cleaned UP for album sales. NOT even Prince was up in the Top 10 which is pretty atmospheric!!

RIAA has it at # 8 @ >20 Million Certified Sales. Pretty impressive when you think of the very few that are ahead of Rumors. If you look closely, its like the late 70s, early 80s really cleaned UP for album sales. NOT even Prince was up in the Top 10 which is pretty atmospheric!!

Didn't that recent article thing that got posted on here say that FM as a whole has sold 140 million? Wikipedia needs to be updated

Everyone knows Rumours, I think out of the list of those top selling albums, it's one of the most popular amongst people. Everyone and their mother has listened to it.

When I was fresh into my twenties, a pal of mine moved into a small, one-bedroom apartment with his girlfriend. Our friend group thought she was wonderful, but we still had our concerns, not all of them tied to the fact that he was splitting from our established post-college, pre-adult house and leaving his portion of the rent uncovered. The concept was entirely foreign to me: I hadn’t yet loved anyone enough to want to share a space with them that wasn’t temporary and, perhaps, quickly forgotten. The shared machinery of love and trust has many parts and many flaws, and therefore many opportunities for disaster. At the time, it all existed on too thin a ledge for me to imagine walking.

When my friend and his girlfriend broke up three months into the lease, they stayed in the apartment together. Breaking the lease was too expensive, as was one of them taking on the rent alone. It also seemed that there was something about remaining inside of the wreckage that was more seductive than pushing one’s way out of it alone. It seemed, at the time, like stubbornness, but really it was a judgment call: If I can carry with me the destruction of something that I once loved, isn’t it like I still have a companion? The summer of the breakup, my friend would stay at our house late, making sure he could get home after his now ex-girlfriend fell asleep. They would avoid each other in the mornings, one sleeping on a tiny couch in the living room. Though it seemed like an absolute nightmare to me then, I remember both of them on the day we helped move them out of the apartment, as sad as I’d seen them in any of the months before. There are endings, and then there are endings.

In this way, heartbreak is akin to a brief and jarring madness. Keeping up the fight in order to not have to reckon with your own sorrow isn’t ideal, but it might help to keep a familiar voice in your ears a bit longer than letting go would. Heartbreak is one of the many emotions that sits inside the long arms of sadness, a mother with many children. I suppose it isn’t all bad, either. For example, right now I am heartbroken at the state of the world, so I take to the streets again. But the real work of the emotion happens beneath the surface. When the room you once shared with someone goes quiet, there are few good ideas. I have gutted a record collection because too many of the songs reminded me of someone I didn’t want to be reminded of. My friends have fled jobs, bands, states. I don’t enjoy being heartbroken, but I might enjoy the point in heartbreak at which we convince ourselves that literally everything is on the table, and run into whatever will dull the sharp echoing for a night, or a week, until that week becomes a year. It is the madness that both seduces and offers you your own window out once it’s done with you.

At some point, a person figured out that the performance of sadness holds value, and art has bowed at its altar ever since. Sometimes it’s a game we play: If I can convince you that I am falling apart, or in need of love, then perhaps I can draw you close enough to tell you what I really need. Other times, it is not entirely performance. In 1976, Fleetwood Mac were in desperate need of a hit to cement their shift from second-string blues-rock band to pop giants. Mick Fleetwood had higher aspirations than kicking around small clubs, and could sense the band’s time running out. Its previous album, 1975’s self-titled effort, was the first with California duo Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks in the band. Containing songs like “Rhiannon” and “Landslide,” now seen as Nicks’s signature tune, the album saw success, paving the way for a monster follow-up.

But in the two years that followed, everything began to come apart. Here is the part everyone knows: First, bassist John McVie and keyboardist-vocalist-songwriter Christine McVie divorced at the end of a tour after eight years of marriage. Then Buckingham and Nicks, embroiled in a volatile on-again, off-again relationship since before joining the band, finally turned it off, which didn’t reduce any of the volatility. The press, catching wind of what was believed to be the band’s collapse, circulated inaccurate stories. In reality, the band was breaking apart, but not broken up. When the spring of 1976 came, they retreated to a recording studio in California. No longer at the edge of chaos, they fully immersed themselves in it.

The lyric that opens Rumours — the band’s most iconic album, released 40 years ago this week — is Lindsey Buckingham’s. “I know there’s nothing to say / Someone has taken my place,” he sings, and just like that, the tone is set. There are few lyrics that set an album’s tone like this one, and few songs. Nicks’s vocals weave in to clash with Buckingham’s in the verses, littered with bitter proclamations. What sells Rumours as more than just high drama spun out on record is the clean brilliance of its pop leanings. While their previous album felt like a blues-ish band trying on some new clothes (which it was), Rumours was the sound of the band fully committed to its new role as a pop act, playing the game and aiming for the charts. The collaborative spirit of Buckingham and Nicks, even fractured, played into this more than anything else. Taking on the bulk of the album’s writing and vocal duties, they fashioned a dual tone: Nicks, both remorseful and hopeful on “Dreams,” with Buckingham angry and spiteful all the way through the album, most impressively on “Go Your Own Way.” Even beyond this, the album's most interesting character, in some ways, is John McVie. He was the band’s most private and reserved member, and didn’t provide lead vocals on any song. This meant that the narrative of his failing marriage could only play out on record through Christine, the most brilliant and stunning example being “You Make Loving Fun,” an ode to an affair she’d had. She told John at the time that the song was about a new dog. It’s hard to ignore that the women made Rumours exciting. Christine McVie wasn’t as flashy as Nicks, but her familiarity and comfort within the band, paired with her and Buckingham’s musical rapport, allowed space for her to emote with ease and nuance. In comparison, she often made Buckingham sound like he was having a frantic, exceptionally skilled temper tantrum.

These are the politics of splitting apart: We run to our friends and tell them the version of the story that will ignite in them a desire to support our latest bit of grief. It becomes a bit tastier, of course, if your friends are millions of pop fans. If, in the telling of your heartbreak, you have to share a microphone with the person who broke your heart. If, perhaps, the drugs wore off just in time for you to remember watching your ex-partner go home with someone else the night before. This is what’s so fascinating and slightly troubling about the dynamic between Buckingham and Nicks: Rumours sounds like a real-time plea to see which of them could come out of the breakup more adored than they were inside of the relationship. Buckingham lost, and, really, he didn’t stand much of a chance. Nicks, gifted, charming, and singular, was the greatest and most fully developed character in the album’s soap opera, despite taking solo lead vocals on only two songs. But the album’s unique appeal goes beyond winners and losers. For the voyeur who prefers public collapse, there is no better combination than someone who is both sad and willing to lie to themselves about it.

Without a healthy investment in the art of denial, Rumours wouldn’t work. Only denial of an emotional desire for escape could lead a band to complete an album when, at its worst moments, its members were unable to talk to each other without screaming. In one of the rooms in the Sausalito studio where the album was recorded, there were no windows. Mick Fleetwood, after a few weeks of recording, removed all of the clocks from the walls. When there is no image of time to make stand still, everything can become a type of stillness. The album represents the sound of ’70s excess at every turn, asking the band how much of the process and all of its demons it could take into itself. It all spoke to the band’s interest in self-torture for the sake of Mick Fleetwood’s mission, his desire to make The Great American Pop Album at all costs, even if Fleetwood Mac had to be held together by cocaine and scotch tape.

“The Chain,” the album’s centerpiece, is haunting, angry, teeming with regret and disgust. It is the whole of the album, condensed into just four and a half minutes. It was crafted largely in separate rooms, pieced together with past parts of old songs. It churns along painfully, driven by a McVie bass riff that sounds like a caged thing finally coming to terms with its surroundings. On the song, Buckingham and Nicks engage in a tug-of-war on the chorus — “If you don’t love me now / You will never love me again” — and they sound like they are shouting at each other from across the studio. It is the one song on the album that makes me feel like something could be broken at any moment. It is the song that you play for someone when they ask you what the fuss behind Rumours is about. It is the entire emotional cycle of dissolution, peaking at the end of the song with the band singing, “Chain, keep us together” in unison, more as a plea than anything else.

It helps to think about Rumours as not just an album, but a living document. Once you push past the theatrics of it, the massive album sales and the thrilling gossip, it is a deeply sad project. Yes, it was such a hit that it afforded the band an ability to take risks in coming years, most notably with Tusk, the exciting Buckingham passion project that followed Rumours in 1979. But it is still an incredibly sad album. It reflects the human conflict of leaving and not leaving and trying to find some small mercy in the face of something that has left you briefly torn apart. The songs are perfect, drenched so richly in the late-’70s California aesthetic that, for a moment, you might even forget the conflicts that produced them. For anyone who has ever loved someone and then stopped loving them, or for anyone who has stopped being loved by someone, it’s a reminder that the immediate exit can be the hardest part. Admitting the end is one thing, but making the decision to fully break ties is another, particularly when an option to remain tethered can mean cheaper rent, or a hit album, or, at the very least, a small and tense place where you can go to turn your sadness into something more than sadness. It’s all so immovable, our endless need for someone to desire us enough to keep us around. To simply call Rumours a breakup album doesn’t do it justice. Most breakup albums have an end point — some triumph, a reward or promise about how some supposed emotional resilience might pay off. Rumours is an album of continual, slow breaking.

My favorite photo of the band from the Rumors era was taken by Annie Leibovitz for the March 24, 1977, Rolling Stone cover, a month or so after the album was released. The band is sprawled on a queen mattress that is resting on the floor, a single sheet covering most of the group. Mick Fleetwood is the glue in the middle, his long limbs stretching from the top of the mattress to the bottom. Buckingham has Christine McVie in his arms, a hand in her hair. Christine’s hand is outstretched, reaching over to touch Fleetwood’s foot. Nicks is resting on Fleetwood’s bare chest, her legs draped over John McVie’s stomach. John McVie is unbothered, reading a magazine. The joke is that they were always too connected to let each other go so easily. I like to think of this as the great lesson hiding in Rumours: There are people we need so much that we can’t imagine turning away from them, people we’ve built entire homes inside of ourselves for that cannot stand empty, people who we still find a way to make magic with, even when the lights flicker and the love runs entirely out.

I confess, I’m not much of a Fleetwood Mac fan. Their limo driven, pseudo hippie decadence makes my skin crawl. Everything I couldn’t stand about the 70’s. The long hair. The beards. The coke. The football jerseys and flairs. Then there’s Stevie, with her ballet slippers, gypsy costumes and patchouli posturing. When it comes to 1977, I’m far more drawn to the likes of Television and The Clash. In terms of late 70’s Pop, give me Blondie or give me death. Which makes it even more ironic, that I simply adore the album, Rumours.

Of course, this is Fleetwood Mac in name only. The original Fleetwood Mac was a killer British blues band, with a godsend of a guitarist and front man in Peter Green. But then Peter flipped out, leaving Mick Fleetwood and John McVie to tread water in some very choppy seas. They eventually found a life raft in the form of the duo, Buckingham and Nicks. Also manning the oars was John McVie’s then wife, Christine, a keyboardist and songwriter with a keen Pop sense. So, while the band should have been called, Fleetbuck MacNicks, Fleetwood Mac has a much better ring.

Lindsey Buckingham may be a SNL joke to some, but when it comes to ‘Second Hand News’ he’s the furthest thing from a punchline. Regardless of one’s musical pretensions, it’s a positively irresistible kick off to an irresistible album. Those bamp bamp bamp’s get your foot tapping and singing along right from the get go. He’s also responsible for one of the biggest hits off Rumours, ‘Go Your Own Way.’

As for Christine McVie, ‘Don’t Stop’ and ‘You Make Lovin’ Fun’ were the other big hits. Rock solid, pieces of FM friendly Pop. On the flipside however, it’s her two other songs which prove to be the weakest links on album. ‘Songbird’ is as mawkish as it’s maudlin. And, ‘Oh Daddy’ is a total bum trip compared to the rest of the album.

Speaking of links, ‘The Chain’ is the strongest, the pinnacle of all Rumours has to offer. Dark and driving, with some haunting acoustic guitar that can’t help but bring Neil Young to mind. This is the sound of the entire band on top of their game. John McVie’s bassline, a classic.

The songs that keep me coming back, however, are all Stevie Nick’s doing. ‘Gold Dust Woman’ remains one of my favorite tracks on the album. ‘Dreams’ is as haunting as, ‘I Don’t Want To Know’ is catchy. As much as I make a pretense of eschewing her image, there’s no denying her talents and those dusty, coke laced vocals. Nick’s personality is not only a dominant force on Rumours, she completely changed the face of the band. Her pivotal role cannot be underestimated.

Whether you love or hate Fleetwood Mac, Rumours is for the most part, undeniably seductive. Despite the following that’s developed over founding member Peter Green, this is the album that will forever be synonymous with Fleetwood Mac. And there is absolutely no shame in surrendering to its copious charms. Any music snob who thumbs their nose up, is just trying too hard. This is the sound of pure temptation and as Oscar Wilde once advised, “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

I confess, I’m not much of a Fleetwood Mac fan. Their limo driven, pseudo hippie decadence makes my skin crawl. Everything I couldn’t stand about the 70’s. The long hair. The beards. The coke. The football jerseys and flairs. Then there’s Stevie, with her ballet slippers, gypsy costumes and patchouli posturing. When it comes to 1977, I’m far more drawn to the likes of Television and The Clash. In terms of late 70’s Pop, give me Blondie or give me death. Which makes it even more ironic, that I simply adore the album, Rumours.

Of course, this is Fleetwood Mac in name only. The original Fleetwood Mac was a killer British blues band, with a godsend of a guitarist and front man in Peter Green. But then Peter flipped out, leaving Mick Fleetwood and John McVie to tread water in some very choppy seas. They eventually found a life raft in the form of the duo, Buckingham and Nicks. Also manning the oars was John McVie’s then wife, Christine, a keyboardist and songwriter with a keen Pop sense. So, while the band should have been called, Fleetbuck MacNicks, Fleetwood Mac has a much better ring.

Lindsey Buckingham may be a SNL joke to some, but when it comes to ‘Second Hand News’ he’s the furthest thing from a punchline. Regardless of one’s musical pretensions, it’s a positively irresistible kick off to an irresistible album. Those bamp bamp bamp’s get your foot tapping and singing along right from the get go. He’s also responsible for one of the biggest hits off Rumours, ‘Go Your Own Way.’

As for Christine McVie, ‘Don’t Stop’ and ‘You Make Lovin’ Fun’ were the other big hits. Rock solid, pieces of FM friendly Pop. On the flipside however, it’s her two other songs which prove to be the weakest links on album. ‘Songbird’ is as mawkish as it’s maudlin. And, ‘Oh Daddy’ is a total bum trip compared to the rest of the album.

Speaking of links, ‘The Chain’ is the strongest, the pinnacle of all Rumours has to offer. Dark and driving, with some haunting acoustic guitar that can’t help but bring Neil Young to mind. This is the sound of the entire band on top of their game. John McVie’s bassline, a classic.

The songs that keep me coming back, however, are all Stevie Nick’s doing. ‘Gold Dust Woman’ remains one of my favorite tracks on the album. ‘Dreams’ is as haunting as, ‘I Don’t Want To Know’ is catchy. As much as I make a pretense of eschewing her image, there’s no denying her talents and those dusty, coke laced vocals. Nick’s personality is not only a dominant force on Rumours, she completely changed the face of the band. Her pivotal role cannot be underestimated.

Whether you love or hate Fleetwood Mac, Rumours is for the most part, undeniably seductive. Despite the following that’s developed over founding member Peter Green, this is the album that will forever be synonymous with Fleetwood Mac. And there is absolutely no shame in surrendering to its copious charms. Any music snob who thumbs their nose up, is just trying too hard. This is the sound of pure temptation and as Oscar Wilde once advised, “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

So his taste in music is the clash and blonde and he’s against everything this version of Fleetwood Mac stands for but the one bright spot to their career is turnouts to him and not tusk?

Yeah, and only Stevie changed the face of the band. Clearly, you're not a fan.

__________________"I think what you would say is that there were factions within the band that had lost their perspective. What that did was to harm the 43-year legacy that we had worked so hard to build, and that legacy was really about rising above difficulties in order to fulfill one's higher truth and one's higher destiny."Lindsey Buckingham, May 11, 2018.

Originally formed in 1967 in London, the original lineup of Fleetwood Mac only included two of its present members, John McVie and Mick Fleetwood. Though the first incarnation garnered success in Europe, it was only after the addition of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham in 1974, followed by their self-titled album in 1975, that the band rose to mainstream popularity.
The album “Fleetwood Mac,” known among fans as “The White Album,” includes two of Stevie Nicks’ songs that eventually came to represent the band’s era, one characterized by uncertainty and change as the band relocated from England to California and began to amass commercial success. In “Landslide,” written while Nicks admired the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, stripped-back acoustic guitar backs Nicks’ plaintive questioning: “What is love? / Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? / Can I handle the seasons of my life?” The song is contemplative, but in signature Stevie Nicks style, it equivocates—this time, between clinging to the past (“Well, I’ve been afraid of changing”) and trying to embrace change (“I’m getting older, too”).

“Rhiannon,” the second popular track from the album, is “about an old Welsh witch,” as Nicks famously prefaces the song in its music video. Based loosely on the story of a Welsh goddess, “Rhiannon” channels Nicks’ well-known obsession with the occult—but more generally, the song is about a woman who can’t be controlled, a “woman taken by the wind.” As guitars ascend on a minor scale, then descend again, there’s a constant, sonic swell and deflation, a rising and falling energy. In live versions of the song, Nicks delivered high-powered, knockout vocal performances, almost too passionate for comfort. “Her Rhiannon in those days was like an exorcism,” Mick Fleetwood said in a VH1 documentary.

As band members continued to flirt, fight, and fall in love, tensions within the group rose more than ever. By 1977, two couples—John and Christine McVie, as well as Buckingham and Nicks—had separated, and even Fleetwood was in the process of divorcing his wife. Coupled with this turmoil, there was a particular pressure to produce a stellar follow-up to the “White Album,” which drove members of the band to abuse drugs and alcohol.

But out of all this anxiety came the band’s most famous album to date: “Rumours,” released in 1977, stayed at the top of the Billboard Hot 200 for 31 weeks and went on to win a Grammy for Album of the Year in 1978. Its stand-out tracks provided a voyeuristic view of the interpersonal drama unfolding backstage. From Buckingham and Nicks’ earlier career as a duo, “I Don’t Wanna Know” proves that ignorance is bliss, a sarcastic end to a torrid affair: “I don’t wanna stand ‘tween you and love, honey, / I just want you to feel fine.” The love affair between Buckingham and Nicks served as the source material for the iconic songs on “Rumours.” “Go Your Own Way” was Lindsey Buckingham’s angsty, drum-heavy account of his quickly devolving relationship with Nicks, who wrote “Dreams,” her own, ethereal version of events in ten minutes with only a few chords. The tracks diverge tonally, but chart the same frustration. “If I could / Baby, I’d give you my world, / How can I / When you won’t take it from me?” Buckingham complains, while Nicks offers self-reflection and redemption, singing, “When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know.” Redemption was a recurring theme for Nicks, who struggled with addiction, first to cocaine, and then to Klonopin. In “Gold Dust Woman,” penned and sung by Nicks, she warns herself of the tragic downfall that befalls a “pale shadow of a woman”: “Take your silver spoon, dig your grave.”

There’s not much optimism to be found on “Rumours,” with the exception of Christine McVie’s “Don’t Stop,” the most cheerful breakup song in music history. “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow, / Don't stop, it’ll soon be here,” Buckingham and McVie sing in the chorus. “It’ll be here better than before / Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone.” Its message was so compelling that President Bill Clinton used it as the theme of his 1992 presidential campaign, even convincing the then-disbanded members to reunite for a performance.

The discography of Fleetwood Mac, a prolific band, long extends beyond “Rumours.” It includes “Tusk,” “Mirage,” and “Tango in the Night,” which feature quintessential hits like “Gypsy,” “Little Lies,” and “Everywhere.” Band members pursued solo projects outside of Fleetwood Mac, too—namely, Nicks’ “Edge of Seventeen” on her album, “Bella Donna.” Yet something about the 1977 album resonates above the rest. Despite its release dating back 40-ish years, “Rumours” manages to sound new with every listen, its lyricism idiosyncratic enough to eschew cliché, yet general and humanly true enough to be universal. It’s a voyeuristic look at the heart of Fleetwood Mac, the story of their numerous entanglements: a fortuitous and complicated meeting of musical styles and love stories. It’s the music, which is simple and somehow always fresh, but it’s also their glamorous ’70s California style, their history of break-ups and make-ups, the melodrama and the forces that kept them together. As they sing in “The Chain”—symbolically, the only song that credits all five members—“I can still hear you saying, / You would never break the chain.”

It’s the kind of knowledge more commonly associated with stalkers, but all longtime fans of Taylor Swift can rattle off a major segment of her “long list of ex-lovers,” including not only A-listers like John Mayer and Harry Styles, but also her high school flings. Even casual fans (and haters) might admit some voyeuristic interest in who inspired the cutting “Picture to Burn” or optimistic “Begin Again,” and Swift undoubtedly knows it. Why else leave hints in the liner notes? Most songwriters are less quick to publicly hint at the real-life inspiration for their work. But, as any acolyte of “Lemonade” or “4:44” knows, a touch of authenticity can make every production decision feel a bit more meaningful.
Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours” celebrated the 40th anniversary of its Grammy win for Album of the Year last month. It did not win for any grand social statement—which the Grammys tend to ignore—or for shattering musical barriers, though little innovations like drumming on an office chair contributed to its impeccable pop-rock sound. It won for having 11 brilliant songs—some wistful, some buoyant, some haunting, and all seemingly directed at bandmates.

“Rumours,” was forged in the ugly aftermath of breakups and divorces involving all five of its members, all in the year directly preceding “Rumours”’s release, 1976. Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, the guitar-and-vocals duo who had catapulted Fleetwood Mac to the heights of commercial success when they joined the band two years earlier, saw their relationship unravel. So did John and Christine McVie, the bassist and keyboard player respectively. So too did drummer Mick Fleetwood and his wife. The band channeled their personal pain into making some of the best, and most devastating music of their career. “Rumours” rightfully came to be considered an iconic breakup(s) album.

The legacy of “Rumours” is, in many ways, complicated to evaluate. It sometimes stands for the entirety of Fleetwood Mac’s “golden era” output (from their 1975 self-titled album to 1987’s “Tango in the Night”), which is a shame. All of those albums are classics to varying degrees, but the power and success of “Rumours” acts as a sort of black hole into which Fleetwood Mac discussions vanish. This reductionism is at least partly due to gender. Women comprise two of its three primary songwriters (Nicks and Christine McVie), making Fleetwood Mac a relatively feminine outlier in the classic-rock canon. Critics tend to minimize and simplify the female artists in that canon. Take, for example, Joni Mitchell, who had an incredible string of highly acclaimed albums in the early ’70s, but is mostly remembered only for her magnum opus “Blue.”

This trend persists 40 years later. Given her importance to the band, it is perpetually shocking to see how little space Stevie Nicks gets on “Rumours.” With only two solo lead songs (“Dreams” and “Gold Dust Woman”) and two more where she shares the microphone (“The Chain” and “I Don’t Want to Know”), she has the shortest spotlight time of Fleetwood Mac’s vocalist trio. Her impassioned and iconic “Silver Springs” was cut from the album because of its initial runtime and relegated to the B-side of “Go Your Own Way.” Contemporary critical analysis of Stevie Nicks is in retrospect stunningly problematic, with more space dedicated to her appearance than her music. One piece in the early ’80s by famed critic Lester Bangs was simply titled “Stevie Nicks: Lilith or Bimbo?”

In spite of this unfair treatment, Nicks leaves behind a legacy greater than those of her highly talented and interesting bandmates. On “Rumours,” she further develops the mysticism of earlier Fleetwood Mac songs like “Rhiannon.” Her lyrics on the closing “Gold Dust Woman,” complemented by the song’s captivating instrumentation, are more haunting and evocative than anything Fleetwood Mac had done previously. The mesmerizing two-chord simplicity of “Dreams,” the band’s only number-one single, has a similar effect. On Nicks’s third songwriting contribution, the country-inflected “I Don’t Want to Know,” she and Buckingham turn mutual bitterness into close-harmony fireworks. Often overlooked, it’s a career vocal highlight for both, which is especially clear in the vulnerability of the second verse: “You got me rocking and a-reeling / Hanging on to you.” All three of these songs poignantly turn her struggles with relationships, identity, and substance abuse into near-mythology. Nicks essentially created the image of the ethereal superstar. Artists like Lorde, Lana Del Rey, and even Madonna have all borrowed heavily from her mold to express themselves in similarly mystical ways.

Of course, the rest of the band pulls their weight, too. 1977 caught Nicks, Buckingham, and Christine McVie at their respective peaks. From the glimmering acoustic masterpiece “Never Going Back Again” to the barn-burning hit “Go Your Own Way,” Buckingham’s contributions amaze, though his chair-drumming adventurousness would peak with 1979’s “Tusk.” Meanwhile, McVie found some hope amid the despair: The album’s one unambiguously optimistic love song, “You Make Loving Fun,” alternates between grooving funk and soaring pop. But the irresistible Clinton campaign anthem “Don’t Stop” and heartrending mid-album breather “Songbird” conceal anxiety (“I know you don’t believe that it’s true / I never meant any harm to you”) and longing (“And I wish you all the love in the world / But most of all, I wish it from myself”) under their deceptively cheery surfaces.

And then, there’s “The Chain.” Tying together multiple song-fragments and crediting every member, the band’s signature song starts the second side with some of the richest vocal harmonies ever committed to record—and only builds from there. The chorus layers melodies from Buckingham, Nicks, and McVie over each other, creating a fitting echo: “I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) you would never break the chain / (Never break the chain)” as John McVie’s bass and Mick Fleetwood’s drums crescendo, driving home this expression of betrayal and disappointment. One breakdown and bass-driven rebuild later, the vocalists sing with increasing desperation, “Chains keep us together.” We don’t need to fully understand this lyric. We know they mean every word.

Many of us can link a certain album to pivotal moments in our lives. Whether it’s the first record you bought with your own money, the chord you first learnt to play on guitar, the song that soundtracked your first kiss, the album that got you those awkward and painful pubescent years or the one that set off light bulbs in your brain and inspired you to take a big leap of faith into the unknown – music is often the catalyst for change in our lives and can even help shape who we become.

In this series, Music Feeds asks artists to reflect on their relationship with music and share with us stories about the effect music has had on their lives.

Here are their love letters to records that forever changed their lives.

Kahli Rose, Zenith Moon – Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours

To my darling sweetheart Rumours,

There are no words in the English language to express my love for you. I knew our love was true when I heard you sing ‘Songbird’ to me when I was in the back seat of my parents’ car, watching the moon and stars through the window. The beautiful tune resonated and inspired me, so much so that years later, I sang that same song at my sister’s wedding for her and her husband’s first dance.

You used to sing me ‘The Chain’ when I went through my first heartbreak – you were somehow always there to empower me, to soothe me and get me back on the right track. I would always make you sing it over and over again, eventually working up the courage to sing along: “And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again.”

You have been there for me throughout my entire life, guiding me and inspiring me. You are a friend I can always rely upon, a wonderfully sweet and intricate friend who becomes more intriguing every time I listen to you. Even though I have heard your stories dozens of times, I only continue to discover new sounds, new meanings of your words and a newer yet never-ending growing appreciation of you.

We were finally united three years ago when I saw you being performed at Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne, and my goodness, it was such a beautiful moment. Being amongst so many people who loved and adored you as much as I do was an incredible feeling.

You’re the pan to my cakes and the wine to my glass.

We’re meant to be together, like a teacup and saucer.

Our love has been written in the stars, as “the songbirds are singing like they know the score…and I love you like never before”.